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✨🥵I'm the invisible, bookish nobody. He's the quarterback everyone screams for. Our fake dating was supposed to be simple.But yesterday, he cornered me in the empty locker room. His hand gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You flinch every time I look at you, Claire.” His breath was hot on my neck. "You say you hate men... but your body begs for me. I'm your exception." He was right. I was wet just from his touch. ============== Chapter 001 Claire’s POV What’s the worst thing that can happen to a person? Being born with freckles and braces? Sure. That’s embarrassing. Being bullied for years at school because you don’t fit in? Absolutely miserable. But worse? Having your mom barge into your room on a Monday morning and say, “Pack your bags. We’re leaving.” Yes. Leaving. I blinked at her from my desk where my history notes were spread out as I rushed through my homework. “I’m sorry, what?” She didn’t soften, not even a little. “We’re moving tonight. The council has decided. Since your father is gone, the law requires me to remarry. Fortunately the Alpha of Silvercrest has… stepped forward.” “Stepped forward”?. Like she was some prize cow at an auction. I laughed, but it came out sharp and broken. “You can’t be serious.” Her jaw tightened. “I am. And you’ll respect this decision.” My chest burned. “Dad’s barely been gone a year. And now you’re just…what…throwing yourself at some Alpha? Like his replacement?” Her eyes flashed. It was not anger or guilt. Which was somehow worse. “There are things you don’t understand, Claire. Your father left behind debts. More than I can pay. If I don’t do this, we lose everything. Our home, our place in this pack. Do you want that?” The words hit harder than a punch. Dad had been many things, but reckless with money? I never imagined. Tears stung my eyes, but I forced them back, not wanting to ruin the perfect memories I had of him. “So, what? He gets to die, and we get to pay the price? This isn’t fair.” “It’s survival,” she said, her voice softer now. “It’s the only way.” I shoved my chair back so hard it nearly toppled. “No. It’s the coward’s way.” And before she could say more, I bolted into the bathroom and locked the door. The mirror showed me a face that barely looked like mine. Pale, freckled, eyes red from holding back tears. My glasses slid down my nose. My braces glinted like a neon sign screaming loser. And underneath all of that? There was weakness. Always weakness. I pressed a hand to my chest, where the familiar ache pulsed. My useless heart was still beating like it mattered. Arrhythmogenic Right Ventricular Dysplasia (ARVD) The condition that’s haunted me since I was a kid makes my heart’s rhythm unstable, sending me into fainting spells without warning. While other kids were learning to run laps and shift early, I was stuck in hospitals, listening to doctors shake their heads. I still have no wolf. I’ve never shifted. My body has very little strength. Just a ticking reminder carved into my chest that I’ll always be behind everyone else. Sometimes I wondered if fate just enjoyed playing jokes on me. Once, I begged my parents to let me take a tiny job at a café—nothing wild, just wiping tables and carrying trays. I lasted all of two days before collapsing behind the counter and waking up in a hospital bed with tubes in my arm like some tragic science experiment. Mom cried. Dad looked like someone had carved a hole straight through him. They spent what little money we had left on more tests, only to hear the same lecture again: she can’t handle anything strenuous, don’t push her. Since then, I’ve basically been wrapped in bubble wrap, treated like I’m made of glass. Spoiler: glass still cracks. And me? I just keep proving them right. All I had left was the hope that I could get into college, study computer engineering, and land a job that didn’t require me to run or lift or fight. Something safe, something where my brain mattered more than my body. It was the only dream I had, the only thing that made me feel like maybe…just maybe…I wasn’t completely useless. I whispered to the empty bathroom, “If I wasn’t so useless, maybe Mom wouldn’t have to do this.” But I was useless. And the guilt suffocated me more than the news itself. I left the bathroom, forced myself into my uniform, and packed my bag with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. Ready or not, I had to face school that same day. By the time I walked through the gates, my two best friends noticed immediately. “Whoa, Claire, did somebody die?” Lily blurted before realizing her mistake. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God, I didn’t mean…” I shook my head. “It’s fine. But close enough.” June linked her arm through mine as we walked into the hallway. “Okay, spill. What happened?” I exhaled like the air itself hurt. “My mom’s getting remarried.” Both of them froze mid-step. “To who?” Lily demanded. “Some Alpha.” The word tasted bitter. “Apparently pack law says she has to. And apparently Dad left behind a mountain of debt we can’t pay. So guess who gets to move and play happy family?” June’s mouth fell open. “That’s insane. Claire, you can’t just let them…” “I don’t have a choice.” My voice cracked, and I hated it. “You always have a choice,” Lily shot back. “Run away. Stay with us. Anything is better than being stuck with some Alpha.” For a second, the idea lit a fire in my chest. But it burned out quickly. Where would I go? I had no money. No wolf. And with my stupid heart, I couldn’t even run half a mile without collapsing. I forced a shaky laugh. “Yeah, sure. Me, surviving on my own. That would last… what? Two hours?” Neither of them laughed. They just looked at me the way people look at stray puppies. And that made me feel even worse. “Don’t pity me,” I snapped, softer than I meant. June squeezed my hand. “We don’t. We just… wish you didn’t have to go through this.” “Yeah, well.” I shrugged, even though my chest felt like it was caving in. “Story of my life.” Everything that happened in school that day was a blur, my mind kept drifting to so many places, thoughts of what my life would be scared me. But I had to brace up for whatever was coming. Going home that afternoon felt like walking to my own execution. Every step closer made my stomach twist tighter. I thought about turning around, hiding at Lily’s, but what would that fix? The house looked the same from the outside. The same peeling paint, the same sagging porch. But the moment I stepped inside, the atmosphere felt… heavier. I froze in the hallway. Voices drifted from the living room. Mom’s nervous laugh. And then a man’s voice, it was low but confident in a way that didn’t need to shout. My pulse spiked. Who was it? Was the Alpha already here?. I clutched the strap of my backpack so tightly my knuckles hurt. “Claire?” Mom called. “Come in, sweetheart. There’s someone I want you to meet.” My legs turned to lead, but they carried me forward anyway. And then I saw him. The Alpha. I’d imagined some old, graying man with a cruel smile. Someone who’d sneer at me the second he saw my braces, my glasses, my freckles. Someone who’d look at me and see nothing but a burden. But the man standing in our living room wasn’t that at all. He was tall. Broad shoulders that filled the space. Dark hair, cut neatly but with a stubborn wave. His eyes lifted to mine—sharp, assessing me, but not in a cruel way. And his aura hit me like a wave: power, undeniable, but not suffocating. My breath caught. Wait this… was the Alpha?

My Malinois nearly snatched a Shih Tzu off a coffee-shop patio. If your dog is "too smart to behave," read every word. Everybody told me a Malinois was too much dog for a guy who just wanted a buddy to bring around town. I didn't listen, and honestly Rex proved them wrong at home — he picked up commands faster than any dog I've ever met. Sit, place, heel, the works, all by six months. I thought I'd hit the jackpot. What I'd actually done was teach a rocket every command except how to sit still while the fuse was lit. The patio at Grounds on 5th is my Saturday spot. A few weeks back I had Rex in a "place" next to my chair, feeling pretty proud of us, when a woman came around the corner carrying a Shih Tzu like a football. Rex came off that place like the floor was electric. He hit the leash so hard my chair tipped, my iced coffee hit the bricks, and he got within a couple feet of that little dog before I hauled him back. The whole patio went silent. The woman just clutched her dog and walked away fast. A regular at the next table — older guy, drinks black coffee, never says much — leaned over and said, "He's not bad. He just doesn't have a single reason to pick you over that." I sat with that the whole drive home. He was right. I'd built a dog who could perform anything I asked in a calm room and nothing at all when it counted, because I'd never built the part that comes first: the check-in. The half-second where the dog looks to me before he decides what to do. That night I found a long thread of working-dog owners, and one line stuck: "Your Mal isn't disobeying. He's running his own program because you never installed yours underneath. Foundation before flash." Two guys in that thread pointed to the Service-Dog-Level Challenge — built on the actual foundation service dogs run on, impulse control and focus, the owner doing it himself, 7 minutes a day. No e-collar, which I'd already refused to use. 1-minute quiz that night. Started the Challenge the next morning before work. First week: stupidly simple stuff. He waits at the door. He holds eye contact before I release him to his ball. A beat of stillness before anything good happens. For a Malinois used to going 100, those pauses were the hardest thing I'd ever asked him to do — and the most important. Second week, he started offering check-ins on his own. On a walk he'd just flick his eyes to me, like asking permission. Third week, a little dog yapped at us through a fence and Rex glanced at it, then turned to me and held. I stood there on the sidewalk laughing like an idiot. This past Saturday, same patio. A small dog walked right past us and Rex stayed in his place, watching me instead. The black-coffee guy raised his cup an inch and said, "Now that's a service dog." I told him the truth: nope, just a lot of seven-minute mornings. He didn't become a calmer dog. He became my partner, because the foundation finally caught up to how smart he already was. If your dog is brilliant and impossible at the same time — take the 1-minute quiz. It builds the Service-Dog-Level Challenge around your dog and the exact thing that sets him off. He's not too much. He's just waiting on the foundation.